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Apollo has no idea why he decided to walk to Kristoph’s house, but there he is, standing on the porch, soaked to the bone and shaking. His teeth chatter away when Kristoph opens the door. Vongole's probably perched in front of the fire place, Apollo thinks, nice and cozy and warm.
Kristoph sighs and ushers Apollo in. Tells him to remove his shoes and wait there; to not ruin the carpet by tracking mud and water in. Apollo goes a step further; when Kristoph returns, he returns to Apollo standing in a pair of slightly damp boxers, hugging himself as goose bumps form all over his body.
“There’s a blanket on the sofa,” he’s told once his hair is dry. Apollo hands the towel back to Kristoph and runs, unashamed, to the sitting area. The fire crackles in the fireplace. It’s a beautiful sound. The only thing better than it is the heat it provides, a blessed contrast to the icy rain outside.
The elder of the two returns to see the other curled up in the blanket. Asks to be allowed in, is welcomed with open arms. Apollo is not shy when his toes are numb. He buries his face in Kristoph’s neck, pressing cold nose against warm skin, practically pulls himself into Kristoph’s lap for optimum warmth. Kristoph grimaces, then chuckles and pulls the blanket around them. He is not usually so cuddly but Kristoph seems to appreciate the closeness for the night; the pure neediness of Apollo, who keens into every touch, gentle hands moving along his back, craving more.
Apollo instigates the kiss, wanting and grateful. Kristoph reciprocates; his breath warms the brunet’s frigid lips, gives him a sense of peace. Apollo breaks the kiss. Leans his head against Kristoph’s shoulder, breaths out a “Thank you.” Gets a pat on the head for a response.
He sighs, content.